Dear Tadpole,

Dear Tadpole: I love/hate you.

There’s a route I ride as part of my training. It’s a little loop that veers off one of the main roads I regularly ride, circles around in a loop, and brings me back to the main road. The name of the road I turn off of is Tadpole, so I have named this route the Tadpole Loop. And I love it/hate it.

Tadpole is one of the hilliest roads on my regular training routes. It’s definitely not the hilliest where I live, by any means. I’ve done some hilly, hilly roads since I started training. Ones that have made me scream and cry and have made my abs hurt.

Anyway, Tadpole is a hilly one. Mostly because it creeps up on you. The first few hills are little hills, and as the loop progresses, the hills get longer and steeper. And finally, as you ride back up to the main road, you climb the hilliest, steepest of all.

I’ve done the Tadpole Loop many times. I always tell myself I can avoid it if I want, but also that if I’m avoiding hard hills I’m not really training. It’s like saying you’re in training for a pie-eating contest, but you really don’t “feel” like finishing the pie. (who has a problem eating pie, by the way?! I sure don’t.)

Anyway, yesterday I rode 44 miles. Part of that was the Tadpole Loop, which was the hardest of the little “loops” I did, which also included the Nixon Loop and riding back and forth on Shingletown, which is pretty hilly as well.

I got through the first few progressing hills as I thought to myself the worst hills are slow and steady; I’d rather work hard but be done faster. Normally after the last big climb before the final big climb, I stop for a water break because I know the hardest part is coming up. But this time I didn’t. I wanted to work on going strong for nearly 20 miles before my first water break, because during Tour de Pink breaks are every 20 miles. And although I can always stop when I want to or need to, yesterday I felt like I could keep going.

The final and hardest climb, back up to the main road, passes by a farm on the left, and cows on both sides. What makes the hill so grueling is it’s slow and steady. You start climbing at the beginning and don’t stop until you reach the top. It’s a slow, slow, gradual climb that instead of leveling off, keeps getting steeper. So I prepared myself, mentally and physically, adjusted my gears, and pushed. I told myself this is the last “big” mileage day before Tour de Pink (I’m doing 20-mile rides Tuesday and Wednesday), so I have to do this. I hate Tadpole so I have to do this.

As I climbed up the hill, in my lowest gear, my thighs felt surges of pain and I was breathing deeply, and I noticed literally all the cows, on both sides of me, were staring at me. Granted, what else are they going to look at? Some of them got real close to the fence, which is close to the road, and just looked at me as I was slowly and painfully riding up the hill.

For a split second I was distracted by how cute the cows were, and before I knew it I was up the hill. It was such a push I felt nauseous by the end, but I knew I had to make that climb so I could continue my training for the day.

I hate Tadpole because it’s hilly. I love Tadpole because it’s hilly. And whether or not they were internally making fun of me, I enjoyed the cows’ company. Because for those seconds I forgot about the hill and thought about the cows.

Tour de Pink is four days away and I am ready, ready, ready. It’s gotten to the point now where I’m more excited than nervous, and actually RELIEVED it’s finally here this coming weekend. Because all of my weekends leading up to Tour de Pink have been about training and sleeping, but now that it’s finally, finally here in a few days, I can use what I’ve been doing. Put my pedal to the metal? Take all of my hard work and dedication and turn it into more work and dedication. My training is really done at this point. Sure, I’ll ride a few more times before we leave Thursday, but my long days of riding alone are behind me. Now I can ride with my guardian angels, with my support. At this point in time, I’m as ready as I’m going to be, and I’m as ready as I’M MEANT TO BE.

I’ve been crying a lot lately about Tour de Pink, mostly because it’s been such an emotional few months preparing for this challenge. I’ve been getting MORE donations, as well as so many kind, emotional and encouraging messages from family and friends these last few days that have made me cry, in a good way. Sorry to spotlight you again, Bethan, (you can see her message in “I’ll take a hug with a side of chocolate cake”), but she tells me to “save nothing.” Give it everything I’ve got. That’s perhaps one of the single most powerful things anyone has ever said to me. “Save nothing” is how I’ve been training. I see it as there is nothing left to put away. No leftovers. Use it all. This is the moment. My energy, my endurance, are FOR THIS. THIS is what they’re for. I don’t need them for anything else. I need them for Tour de Pink.

Use it all. Every last drop.

Thank you, Bethan. And thank you to ALL of my family and friends who have sent messages and emails. When you made your online donations I saved each and every one of your messages, put them into a word document, printed them off, and will be taking them to Tour de Pink with me. Your words, all of you, mean the world to me.

In the picture I posted above, I am lifting Pink Flash off the ground. You can’t tell by the picture, but I’m only using one arm. (The other is resting on my hip.)

I’m using one arm because Pink Flash is light. And it’s my right arm I’m using. I use my right arm to steady my bike and my left to scratch and itch or fix my glasses while I’m riding. My right arm is my dominant arm.

Two years ago I couldn’t lift it at all. My right breast was removed, along with three lymph nodes under my arm. I babied that arm in the beginning; never letting it hang to my side, always holding it like a baby with my left arm. I was afraid of ripping stitches or popping the expander. I never used it for anything. Not to open jars, to lift milk. And my doctors told me not to baby that arm. I had to use it if I was going to get better. I didn’t want to use it. It hurt and I was scared. But I told myself if I don’t start using it now I may never use it the same way again.

So I started physical therapy and I started lifting weights and I started yoga and I started running. And then I started cycling. And that right arm not only pulls a nearly 60-pound dog, but it balances my body while I’m on the bike. It keeps me in line. It’s my go-to arm.

Many breast cancer survivors say one reason they do Tour de Pink is to take back their bodies after breast cancer. Regain control, regain strength and sense of self. Take back what they lost.

Seven months of training. $5,361 raised for the Young Survival Coalition.

Thank you, everyone, for helping me get here, to this day. Thank you for the messages. Thank you for the donations. Thank you for your patience. Thank you for being my team, and thank you for standing beside me and behind me as I embark on this journey. For the enjoyment, for the experience, for the cause, for the women and men, for myself.

Maps of where I’m riding are located at the bottom of this blog. Cheering station locations can be accessed by clicking the TDP logo on the right column of the blog. And donations will be accepted until 1 month after Tour de Pink!

And I can’t end without thanking the Young Survival Coalition, which makes this ride possible, and all of its staff and volunteers who put together a three-day experience that really, truly supports the riders and survivors. The YSC provided me with my helmet, and is paying for all of my meals, snacks and hotel stays. It’s also providing me with a TdP jersey and arm warmers. And Pink Flash was donated by Liv/Giant, and my clip-in shoes and pedals were donated by Shimano.

The YSC encouraged me to ride and has supported me through the training process. I am proud to ride with them and for them. I am proud to be a part of something huge. I can’t wait until Friday. I can’t wait to see what I am capable of.

I’ll end this post with one of my favorite quotes: “Until you spread your wings you’ll have no idea how far you can fly.”

Ok, and one more of my favorites, that I’ve been using since high school: “A ship in the harbor is safe, but that’s not what ships are built for.”

With those two quotes in mind, I’m ready to fly, to sail, to ride. Saving nothing and giving everything.